The Light at the End of the Tunnel (Might or Might Not Be a Train)
by ashtrayhearts
Summary: Lydia likes to be in control of her life. Unfortunately, her life seems to have become this chaotic, dangerous, confusing thing and she's not sure how to fix it.


Lydia Martin liked to be in control of her life.

She didn't need everyone to love her, but she needed them to follow her. She wanted to be in charge and she wanted to be the woman other girls aspired to be. Everything was perfect up until the age of 16. Then things changed drastically.

One day, she entered the school and everyone just _looked_. It wasn't that she wasn't used to people staring at her, but usually they were looks of awe, of admiration and desire and envy, not… not that.

She repressed the urge to reach up. She knew there was no red seeping through the thin material of her shirt, no visible reminder she had been clinging to life just a little while ago, and that the illusion of wet blood dripping down her stomach to the floor was just that – an illusion. Instead, she raised her chin and got on with her life.

Like she had done when Jackson, fucking _Co_-Captain of the lacrosse team had dumped her. Like she had done every time she got hurt.

So naturally, when she started seeing dead people, she did just that: get on with her life. There was no use in therapy; the best possible outcome of it would have been for her to get over the past and why spend money and valuable time on it when she could just skip that part and manage on her own?

At first she thought her approach was working. The nightmares got less and she was fine as long as she kept busy and took care not to touch her healing wounds when she could avoid it. And if she thought she saw her almost-killer from time to time, it was just a trick of the light, a Fata Morgana of the mind. Certainly nothing to worry about, not when there was homework to catch up on and studying tt get done and nail polish to apply.

Then he started talking.

They were whispers at the beginning, caressing her in the dark of the night, sneaking their way into her dreams and winding around her chest when she was awake, constricting her breathing. He was talking of greatness, of power and how to get it and hadn't Lydia always wanted that? Seeing him was terrifying, but his smooth voice was irresistible.

She tried to resist. The fact he seemed more alive to her than anyone she knew was inconsequential when she thought about what he had done to her, what he could do again if she let him. He promised not to hurt her, swore up and down that he'd leave her alone if she just did what he said. She was disinclined to believe him, considering he was invading her very mind, but the threat to her friends and family was enough to make her obey.

Every time she blinked, she saw a hand smearing blood over a window pane as the person it belonged to slumped to the floor.

So she followed his instructions. Did everything he said, in a haze and like she was watching herself from a distance, but thoroughly and conscientious. He rose, she screamed, he escaped.

She lived.

There was Jackson after that. How the fact he was a part time reptilian monster had escaped her notice, she wasn't sure, but she took comfort in the fact she was the only one able to bring him back. She didn't know why she hadn't run the second she had seen him, why she had took a step forwards instead of back to give him his key, but somehow that tiny little thing had seemed so important at the time. Lydia had never liked unfinished business.

After that, things just got more complicated. Jackson was a werewolf and apparently so were Scott and Derek and some of the losers she had never bothered to learn the names of. She learned them. Allison stopped putting an arrow in everything that moved and displeased her, but she changed nonetheless. It wasn't that Lydia didn't understand the need to prioritize family and knowledge and newfound skills, but understanding doesn't always lead to liking.

Stiles was no one and somehow that made him comforting in a way he had never been before. While the others were busy fighting mythical beasts and defending their rights as a pack (the concept of alphas and betas and omegas wasn't new to Lydia, after all _society_ was like that, but an alpha pack still wasn't something to mess with), she could always count on Stiles. Not that he didn't run off and almost got himself killed several times a week too, sometimes dragging Lydia into it, but he usually always paused to include her. He _noticed_ her, something she had always taken for granted in other people, before her life had turned into a freakshow.

And he didn't let her get away with all the bullshit she usually told other people.

When Derek almost killed Jackson (Lydia was sure he had valid reasons, but _still_) Stiles spent two entire days in the hospital with her until she was sure Jackson would be fine.

When Lydia's parents divorced, Stiles was the one who humored her for weeks as she went on shopping tours that were excessive even for her. He was also the one who stayed with her all night when she finally broke down without trying to feel her up even once.

When Lydia found herself in her room one starless night, a blade cutting through the pale flesh of her lower arm just deep enough to hurt but not to kill (she wasn't stupid after all, just possibly a little damaged), it was Stiles who discovered her and helped her clean the blood out of her carpet.

Was she in love with him? Probably not, but he helped keep her sane and Lydia was lonely and he was there.

It was inevitable then, that she would let him into her life, into her bed and her mind and maybe her soul if such a thing existed. He liked her, loved her even, and while that was nothing she needed from him, it was something she had grown to appreciate.

The first time she realized convenience had led to something more, something almost unwelcome, was when Jackson kissed her for the first time since she had saved him and she felt nothing but vague regret over what could have been.

She pushed Jackson away, left, and tried to ignore it.

The second time she realized it, was the time Stiles almost got himself killed for the nth time that month. He wasn't bleeding, but his eyes were glazed over as he blinked up at her and all she saw in them was her own reflection and nothing of _Stiles_ and it terrified her.

She saw to it that he got all the care he needed, stayed until she was sure he'd live (she knew the nurses name's by then), left and tried to ignore it.

The third time, they were lying in her bed, sheets tangled around their feet and the moonlight brightening the room enough so she could make out his features. She thought of all the times he had saved her and all the times she had saved him and forgot to leave in time to keep herself from thinking _I love you_.

Life didn't change much after that, but somehow it made all the difference.

.


End file.
